Cold
by planet p
Summary: A series of disappearances draw the attention of Sam and Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Cold **by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _Supernatural_ or any of its characters.

* * *

It was a bright, green day; the sky a clear blue colour, the rains of the last few days evaporated to be replaced by sunny blue clarity. The grass was lush and soft beneath Shasta's feet, slender and cold against the skin of her bare feet, the bottoms, sides and tops. Shasta liked this feeling; it was the feeling of freedom, she thought.

She walked across the bright, dew-soaked lawn hand-in-hand with her twin sister, Shyra, holding tight to her twin's cool hand. Three months ago, the doctors had been so certain that Shyra would not live out the year, yet here she was, still here, her hand in Shasta's, and that – this moment, here – was Shasta's whole world, holding Sunshine's hand.

The two 16-year-olds laughed as they dashed, hands held, across the freezing campground lawn toward the cabin which they'd shared with their older brother, Graham, his best friend, Hil, and Graham's son, their little nephew, Bob.

Bob had been born three years ago, when their year older brother had been 14, ten months after the accident that had killed their parents and left them in the care of their grandfather, Lester. Graham had fallen in love with the kid the moment he'd first set eyes on him, but his mother, barely a year older than Graham herself, had seen Bob and known that she wanted to have nothing to do with him. She was just a kid. She wanted to be a kid, not to have a kid herself!

Shasta and Shyra giggled as they crossed the gritty cream-orange sand of the road, cutting between the patches of grass and toilet blocks and cabins or caravans or tenting lots dissecting the caravan park in which they'd chosen to take their week-long holiday. They ran up the crumbling concrete steps and slid the glass door and slipped into the cabin, feeling their feet slide and scrape on the stone cold linoleum of the cabin's kitchenette floor, the gritty sand tickling the bottoms of their feet.

A small fan heater, jelly baby green, rattled from across the small kitchenette/dining area, sending its vibrations through the floor and up the walls, positioned in front of the sofa on which Hil sat with Bob, eagerly watching the morning's children's broadcast on the old, smallish television sitting, situated in a corner of the wall, on a special shelf made for just such a purpose.

Shasta gave a small wave, smiling happily at the 3-year-old, but the little boy was too intent on the television program to take notice, and the two teenage girls headed for the second, smaller bedroom, which featured two sets of bunks, and in which they'd been sleeping for the last three days, along with their brother, Graham's best friend, Hil.

Graham had taken the larger bedroom, occupied by a double bed; bedside cabinet, lamp and Holy Bible – which Shyra had claimed the first night in her quest for reading material – and wardrobe.

Graham was out, shopping, and the two teenagers returned to the smaller bedroom to change out of their pyjamas into the clothes they'd wear for the day.

Today, they'd decided that they would have a barbeque in one of the local forest reserves with coin-operated barbeques and picnic tables inside little huts, and a few outside.

Shasta chose a blue denim miniskirt and neon green boob tube, and Shyra chose a pair of khakis and a _Twilight_ themed tee shirt – declaring her love for the character, Jacob Black – over a long sleeved tee. Shasta chose a pair of thin, strappy low-heeled things, and Shyra settled for her favourite sneakers.

Shyra hummed Hilary Duff's _There Will Never Be Another James Dean_ as she searched her backpack for her pair of large red sunglasses, and bottle of sunscreen.

Later, after a breakfast of packet breakfast cereal and milk and juice, Shasta chose Bob's day wear and Shyra covered him in sunscreen, whilst Hil cleared the round table with seating for four and washed up the dishes. When Shyra had finished Bob's sunscreen, she applied sunscreen to her neck, face and hands and wrists, and pasted sunscreen on her twin sister's face, and tied back her hair in a high ponytail with a hair band.

Graham returned with the sedan – the colourful plastic bags full of shopping sitting, visible through the demister striped window, in the back – and they collected the barbeque items, utensils, cutlery and dishes for the barbeque lunch, and headed out the door, pulling the door firmly closed behind them and locking it with the key from the front office.

* * *

It was a perfect day for a barbeque, as it turned out, and all five holiday-makers found themselves smiling as they unpacked the sedan – Bob was allowed to hold the bread, sliced, white, sandwich cut – and amassed the items on one of the wooden picnic tables inside of the hut, close to one of the three barbeques.

Graham was pleased to see that there was even a small younger children's playground included in the general playground set up, a plastic affair, but fairly safe from splinters and cuts.

Shasta and Shyra laughed at Hil's jokes, and Hil laughed along. He'd always found his own jokes pretty funny, and he liked them even more when other people liked them.

He respected and admired that Graham had had the courage to take on looking after the kid himself, and though he strongly believed that it was the right thing to do, he didn't think he'd have been able to do it himself, to be honest.

Shasta laughed harder at another of his jokes, and he smiled, bending to feed coins into the barbeque.

* * *

They'd been driving for hours, vaguely headed in the direction of Bobby's, when they'd pulled into the roadhouse to fill up the tank on the Impala and get out of the car for a while, maybe have something to eat.

Dean took the two Styrofoam cups of coffee from the woman behind the counter and walked back outside, toward where his younger brother, Sam was sitting at an outside table, laptop in front of him, consulting the screen, and placed the two coffees down at the table, before heading back inside to collect the sandwiches.

It was a warm, cloudless day, so Dean didn't see any reason to sit inside when they could be outside, though they'd have to make do with the road they'd just pulled off as scenery and not-quite-fresh air, but at least they'd be out of harm's way of the group of primary school children on an excursion currently taking up most of the seating inside.

Dean rejoined his brother outside and placed the plastic-encased sandwiches down at the table, taking a seat across the table from Sam.

Sam's expression was all the evidence Dean needed of his increasing annoyance at the slow internet, but, coupled with his shaking one leg up and down impatiently as he peered into the laptop's screen, hunched over and eyes scrunched up in anticipation, it was obvious that he hadn't even noticed the coffee that Dean had earlier brought out, or the sandwich which was sitting next to his coffee.

"Sam," Dean said, glancing at Sam's coffee pointedly.

Instead of directing his gaze toward Dean, or the coffee, Sam continued to squint into the computer screen, and began rattling off details of fifteen disappearances of small children aged between two years to five, all within the space of a week, and all in and around the same town.

Dean took a bite out of his sandwich and frowned. A bunch of kids disappearing was unfortunate, but it didn't sound particularly as though they'd been taken by anything supernatural.

They'd all gone missing from public places, and all during the daytime, Sam continued listing off facts, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

"Sammy!"

Sam sat up straighter in his hard metal chair and glanced at his brother.

Dean nodded to the coffee, which Sam reached across to take.

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

Dean shrugged.

"C'mon, Dean, they're kids," Sam told him, placing his coffee down again.

Dean sighed. "Alright, maybe we could head in that direction; check it out," he agreed, finally, and watched Sam pick his coffee up again, then frown suddenly.

"Sandwiches, dude?"

Dean tossed his head in the direction of the school kids, indicating that there hadn't been much else on offer at the time that the kids hadn't already got and was edible.

Sam sipped his coffee, watching the kids through the glass window.

* * *

Shasta returned from the toilet and took Bob's hand to take him out of Graham's hands for a while so that he and Hil could get on with cooking and preparation of their lunch, and Bob could have some time on the kiddy playground.

Shyra set out plastic cutlery at the picnic table and rummaged around in the plastic bags for plastic cups, serviettes, and paper plates, and, once that was done, she walked to the parking lot to where Graham had left the sedan, unlocked, and retrieved the canister of mineral water out of the back and placed it down on the gravel to shut the back.

Because they could see the car from where they were, Graham reasoned that they didn't need to lock up the car, and it would spare them the annoyance of needing to use the key as much, and from passing the key between them, which meant that there was a lot less of a chance of it becoming lost because it would remain with Graham the whole time.

Shyra turned to pick the canister of water up off the ground and walked back toward the hut, and hefted the canister up and onto the table. She poured two plastic cups of water and took them to Graham and Hil, before returning to the table to set out the tomato sauce, barbeque sauce and mustard, and the salt and pepper.

Next, she would have to start on the salad, so she began looking around for the large mixing bowl, but, unable to find it, figured that it was in the car, too, and straightened and glanced across to the playground, which was already teeming with laughing, screaming loud children, running and jumping and throwing.

She glanced across to where she could see Shasta, her neon boob tube standing out against the background of the green grass, red bark chips, and assorted colourful plastic, wooden and metal play equipment, and the darker shapes of the trees, and the bright blue sky, and other visitors to the reserve, their children also playing on the playground.

She could see Shasta chatting with a teenage boy around her own age, and glanced past her sister to the plastic playground, scanning through the children quickly.

Bob wasn't amongst them.

She started running.


	2. Chapter 2

The Impala reached the town a day later, Dean driving, and Sam asleep in the seat beside him. He pulled up in front of a public toilet, situated in a park, and checked the time on the watch on his wrist, then turned in his seat and reached for the bag in which Sam kept his laptop computer, and had stuffed various printouts on the missing children, which he'd done at a local library in some town along the way.

The bag was heavier than he expected, but Dean managed to haul it toward him and was pleased to find a box of jellybeans. He flipped it open and shook a few of the small, colourful beans into his hand, and popped one into his mouth, stashing the others away in a pocket of his shirt, and took out the sheets of paper, perusing them slowly to make sure he got the details right.

When he'd finished reading over the documents three times, and, having pulled a pad and pen from the glove box to jot down some notes, he shoved the papers back into the bag and returned it to the backseat.

He popped another of the jellybeans into his mouth before checking the road and pulling away from the curb.

* * *

The town had a few libraries, according to the Information Board beside the town hall. Dean noted the closest library and walked back to the Impala, pulling the door closed after him. If that one was no good, he'd have two more to try.

He drove into the library parking lot and took a space away from the row of trees running along one side of the library, and leant across to shake Sam's shoulder. He got out of the car and headed off to purchase a ticket from the ticket machine. That was one of the annoying things about bigger towns; they charged parking fees.

By the time he'd gotten back to the Impala, Sam had straightened in his seat and was blinking against the bright light. Dean opened the car door and slipped the ticket into the front window, resting in a corner of the dashboard.

Sam glanced across at him slowly, then turned to look at the car door on his side, and opened the door slowly, and stepped out of the car into the parking lot, shoes crunching, and straightened.

To Dean, he looked like something unfolding from a long dormancy, or a period of change. That was just how Sam was, he was so tall.

Dean pushed his car door shut, and watched Sam stumble around in the direction of the building, squint at it for a long moment, and, then, realising that it was a library, turn back to the car and shuffle to the back door and open the door, bending to retrieve his laptop. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily, voice muffled by sleepiness and distance.

Dean consulted his watch. "Ten-thirty, about," he replied.

Sam slammed the car door closed, his movements clumsy, overcompensating for the tiredness.

Dean didn't make comment, but walked around the car to join his brother on the walk toward the library. As they were walking, Sam squinting and frowning, as though struggling to shrug off the arms of sleep, struggling to understand his movements and exhibit some control over his limbs, Dean explained that he was looking for any disappearances of children within the category of two to five years occurring _before_ the most recent spate of disappearances.

Sam stopped haltingly in front of the automatic doors at the library's entrance, waiting for the sensor to respond and the doors to open, though they were already open, and Dean frowned, turning back toward his brother from inside the library. "It's open, Sam," he said without humour, and then wanted to kick himself. At least, if he'd made it like a joke, or a jibe, Sam would have been able to shrug it off as just another antic, another of his older brother's annoying habits.

Sam started forward, walking through the doors, and Dean kicked himself into moving. It seemed like a tremendous backwards sprint; the Apocalypse unleashed, and they were investigating the disappearance of a couple of kids, but it was what Sam wanted to do, and Dean was willing to let him make the choice if it made him feel more like himself, and if it took his mind of the fact that everybody in the know would now be thinking that it was Sam's fault that the end of the world was suddenly _very real_, and convinced that he'd turned Anakin Skywalker goes Darth Vader.

To Dean, Sam was still his little brother, and, yeah, he'd made some mistakes, he'd allowed himself to be misled and been taken in by misinformation and false intentions, but he was Sammy, damn it, and Dean loved him, and he knew that Sammy wasn't a monster – not _his Sammy_!

Others would say, _It's a diversion_,_ Deliberate confusion_, but Dean knew that Sam's concern was not a trick. They'd say that Sam's concern was a mask to hide the demon that he'd become, but Dean knew that that wasn't true; if it was a mask to hide anything, it was his upset, his guilt, his pain. Despite his actions, Dean knew that Sam had cared for Ruby, maybe even more than he'd realised at the time.

Dean walked up to the service counter, joining the smallest queue – at the third computer terminal – and, when the other people in front of him in line had cleared, he explained to the fortyish woman on the other side of the desk – Mary, by her nametag – that he'd like to use the free internet service, and was handed a slip of paper with a guest username and temporary password which he was told would last for two hours.

He thanked Mary, nodded, and turned and walked away to join his brother, who was looking at the back cover of a book in the Feature Titles shelf.

Dean walked up to him and showed him the slip, and Sam glanced listlessly in the direction of the tables and newspapers and magazines. All of the newspapers were taken, Dean noted, watching an older man filling in a crossword puzzle, and the two brothers walked away toward the Study section, where they'd be able to connect Sam's laptop to a power outlet and use the wireless internet.

Dean pulled a chair from the table behind them, and sat down beside the chair in which Sam was sitting, connecting his laptop, clicking on the internet browser icon on the desktop, and keying in the address for the library login access page, then typing in the username and password on the slip that Mary had given Dean.

He watched Sam navigating through pages of search engine results, typing in official looking web addresses into the URL line, hitting the refresh icon, pausing to scribble notes onto a notebook. Pleased to see that Sam was waking up a bit, Dean glanced around for a coffee or drinks machine, then thought of Mary up at the counter, wondering if it hadn't been her name – the same as their mother's – which had encouraged him to leave her with that extra little nod.

With an inward sigh, he glanced back to Sam and the computer screen. Sometimes he wished Mary had had more time to spend with Sam – with the whole family – but it hadn't turned out that way.

Strange, that it had been Sam who'd recognised their mother's spirit in their old house in Lawrence. He hadn't been jealous; he'd just been sad.

He sighed again, outwardly, and stood and pushed back the chair, walking away to look for a vending machine that sold some sort of drink or snack.

* * *

There had been other disappearances, Sam confirmed as he returned with two Cokes and a bottle of mineral water. Six children in all; all were still missing.

Sam took the water, opened the cap, took a sip, and placed the bottle down at the desk and continued searching.

Dean sat down in the seat he'd earlier left, watching his brother work, and taking a sip of his can of Coke.

* * *

The latest disappearance was of a 3-year-old named Bob. Sam noted the address down, then packed up his laptop and pad in the bag, and the pair left the library.

Dean dropped his empty Coke can in the trash on the way out, as they were passing the library and community notice boards, like the sort they sometimes had at small, local supermarkets.

* * *

Dean pulled off the road and shut the engine off in front of the house where Bob had lived. He got out of the car and walked around the back to the footpath, and changed into a more formal looking jacket which he found amongst the things in his bag, and turned to pass Sam his fake detective's ID. He slammed the car door shut and the pair walked up the driveway to the door.

An older man answered the door, and when Dean explained that Sam and he were detectives, he introduced himself as Lester, the young fellow's grandfather. His father, Graham, was at school, he said.

Dean filed the fact that the child's father was a school teacher away for later use, and stepped inside with a nod when Lester invited them in, and showed them into the lounge room. On the small table beside the window, Dean noticed several photographs in frames.

Lester offered coffee. Dean accepted and the older man hurried away.

Sam glanced across at Dean, then shuffled closer to explain that he thought that the young man in the photograph with the two teenage girls was Bob's father, Graham.

Dean shot him a frown, and thought about Sam's suggestion, realising that when Lester had said that his grandson was at school, he had really meant that he was _at school_. Lester had to be in his early to mid fifties; it added up.

Dean glanced back to the little table and the photograph of the little boy, Bob.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Dean turned at the interruption, Sam turning also.

The pale teenager was one of the girls from the photographs, Graham's sister.

Sam stepped forward, toward the girl, and began to explain who they were, and that they had come to help find Bob and bring him back home, to his family, to the people who loved him.

The girl remained without comment, and her eyes travelled from Sam's face to Dean's, and then, to the window, from which she could see the Impala parked on the curb.

Lester appeared behind the girl, mugs of coffee in hand, and moved around the girl to deposit the mugs onto the coffee table and gesture Sam and Dean into seats at the couch. The girl's name was Shyra, his granddaughter, and Bob's aunt.

Shyra remained standing whilst Lester talked Sam and Dean through the accident that had taken his daughter and her husband from him, four years earlier. It wasn't until Lester reached the part about the holiday and Bob's disappearance from the playground, that Shyra took a seat in one of the armchairs beside her grandfather, picking up the embroidered cushion – dotted with tiny teddy bears – before she sat down and holding it in her lap.

Sam was the one who asked the question that Dean had been hoping the answer to which would just slip out, without ever needing to be asked. Why wasn't Shyra at school? Was she sick? Had Bob been sick also, or did Lester think that he might have been at risk of developing sickness due to exposure to a member of his family being sick?

Shyra wasn't sick anymore. She'd been very ill three months ago, but she was on the path to mend. Shyra wasn't at school because he hadn't wanted to pile extra stress on her which might exacerbate her illness and hinder her recovery; she was being home-schooled.

As her grandfather outlined the reason that she was home on a school day, Shyra remained quiet, sitting, unmoving, in the armchair, watching Sam as he took all of this in. "It's my fault Bob's gone," she said suddenly, blankly, "I should have known."

Lester's head whipped around in her direction, and he stared at her hard, confused and upset. How could she say it was her fault; it wasn't anyone's fault.

Shyra fixed her gaze to Sam's. "It's my fault," she repeated, her voice a deadpan.


	3. Chapter 3

Lester collected up the empty mugs, accepting Sam's words of thanks, and left the room to drop the mugs off in the sink in the kitchen.

"You're not detectives," Shyra said, a mere statement of fact, when her grandfather had left the room, her gaze cast downward and fixed upon the teddy bear cushion.

Sam stood as though to contest, and Shyra leapt to her feet, amazingly fast. Her eyes bored into Sam's, flashing silver for less than a second. "I don't care who you are," she said, voice hardened, "I'm only interested in if you're really here to help Bob, as you say you are."

Sam held out a hand to Dean, without looking at him, and stepped closer to Shyra, his legs coming up against the coffee table with a thud. He didn't take his eyes from Shyra's. "We are," he said genuinely.

Shyra didn't pick up on the pain in his voice, she only heard the concern.

For a moment, Dean didn't hear the pain that his brother was clearly trying to hide, his concern occupied by the fact that they were standing in a lounge room with a _vampire_, then he remembered the way Sam had been looking at those kids in the roadhouse where they'd stopped for coffee and sandwiches a day earlier. _A frickin' vampire, Dean!_ Annoyed at himself, he returned his attention to Shyra.

With solid strides, he approached Shyra. He stopped before her, the taller of the two, and looked down at her.

Shyra remained where she'd been standing before he'd walked up to her, her face determined. She was not about to be intimidated in her own home!

"My brother and I hunt monsters like you!" Dean breathed, leaning in close.

Shyra's eyes glared at him. "When I find out who took Bob, I'll hunt him, or her, down, and I promise then, you'll have something to hunt!" she growled, then stepped backward swiftly and left the room.

Sam stared after her.

Dean glared at her back, grinning menacingly. "And who's to say it wasn't you who's been taking these kids?" he called out after her, gloating.

Shyra whipped around, her eyes flint hard. "How dare you, sir!" She pressed herself forward, further into the room, her voice rising to a scream. "How dare you accuse _me_ of hurting _my own_ nephew!" Salty tears bloated her eyes. "I'm guilty of allowing someone – _or something_ – to take Bob right in front of me, BUT I WOULD NEVER, NEVER HURT THAT CHILD!" The tears tipped over the edges of her eyes and raced down her cheeks. "I CAN ALWAYS FEEL HIM, FEEL HIS HEARTBEAT," she howled, "BUT THEN IT WAS GONE, AND I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN I HAD STOPPED HEARING IT – AND BOB WAS GONE!" She stomped her foot several times, more tears splashing out of her eyes and joined those slicked to her cheeks. "I JUST WANT HIM BACK! I WANT HIM HOME!" Her throat hitched, scratching, and she ran over to the armchair and grabbed the teddy bear cushion and fled the room.

Dean stood and stared after the girl, his face contorted into something resembling shock.

Sam only looked sad.

* * *

"I'd like you to leave now, detectives," Lester told them, from the other doorway, the one leading to the kitchen, shotgun in hand.

Sam stepped back from the coffee table and moved toward his brother, apologising quickly, and the two were shown out of the house.

* * *

Back at the Impala, Dean glanced at Sam. All things considered, he supposed that had gone fairly well. Then again, it had sunk faster than a lead weight!

Sam opened the car door and got into the car, reaching over to open the glove box and replace the fake ID.

Dean got in and shut the door after himself. He started the engine and pulled away from the house, onto the street, and drove away. He figured that answered his question as to why Shyra wasn't at school with her siblings.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day at the two remaining libraries, Sam looking for connections between the victims other than that they were similarly aged and resided in the same town. Had they perhaps attended the same playgroup or day care centre? Had they visited the same doctor's practise, or perhaps a children's birthday party, a park or playground?

Dean flipped through the pages of their father's journal, thinking about Shyra. His eyes unfocussed from the page in front of him. He wondered if her family knew what she was, and how she resisted drinking their blood. If they didn't, it was a big risk, targeting her own nephew. He frowned. Then again, maybe the kid had pissed her off and she'd just had enough, didn't see the point of letting him live anymore.

* * *

They booked a motel room for the night and ate dinner in a restaurant a few steps down the road, before returning to their motel room.

Walking into the room and over to his bed, Dean explained to Sam that they'd have to take care of the vampire before they left, whether or not she was the one who'd been snatching the kids.

Sam didn't respond, his expression deep in thought, and sat down on his bed, closing his eyes.

Dean began humming and lay back on the bed, watching the ceiling. After a minute, he turned over, and closed his eyes. Sam would talk when Sam was ready, right?

* * *

Dean woke to a hand on his upper arm, its grip vice-like. He squinted up into the darkness, blinking at the sudden brightness when a lamp was switched on, a hand darting out quickly, and Shyra's pale face materialised sharply over him. "Your brother said you could help our Bob," she said, matter-of-fact.

"Shyra, please let go of my brother's arm?" Sam's sleepy voice asked from behind Shyra.

Shyra didn't turn, but her grip lessened on Dean's arm, and then returned to her side. "Can you bring him home?" she asked stiffly.

Sam sat up behind her and squinted into the brightened room. "I don't know. I hope so."

Shyra turned swiftly and lunged forward.

Sam blinked, but did not leap backward.

Dean sat quickly, quietly, and produced the machete hiding underneath his pillow.

"I can show you where they took him!" Shyra rambled. "I want to help!"

Sam nodded slowly. "That would help, Shyra," he said.

Dean slipped the machete back under the pillow just as Shyra turned. Dean frowned, as though considering her offer to help. He nodded, echoing his brother's response.

* * *

Sam drove, and Shyra sat up front with him, navigating. Dean sat on the backseat, watching her every move.

When they finally arrived at the reserve's picnic ground, it was incredibly dark, save for a couple of weak lights affixed to the outside of the toilets, attracting insects.

Shyra pointed, closing the door softly after herself. "He was just playing there. Shasta was watching him."

"Shasta?" Sam asked. "The other girl in the photographs, your sister?"

"My twin," Shyra corrected, already walking toward the spot where she'd last seen her little nephew.

Sam followed her, falling into step beside her despite her swift strides.

Dean tailed them, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble from Shyra.

Shyra stopped in front of a plastic playground, obviously for smaller children, and stood around, shifting her weight between her feet. "Here," she said.

Sam scanned the playground, snapping on a torch, dousing the equipment with stinging light, then turned back to Shyra, lowering the torch to their feet. He glanced at the ground. "Dean and I have hunted vampires before," he began, nervous and a bit unsure.

"You-you think it was other vampires?" Shyra leapt in, her voice rising in pitch.

"No…" Sam sighed, then lifted his face to meet her eyes. "I mean, the vampires that we encountered…" He chewed his lip. "They…"

"They?" Shyra prompted.

"Once they've got your scent, they don't stop hunting you."

Shyra shook her head, then her eyes widened. "You think…?" She stomped her foot, as though impatient. "I can… f-find Bobby… b-by tracking his sc-scent?"

Sam nodded, looking at the ground again.

Shyra's gaze shot quickly to Dean for confirmation.

Dean nodded sharply.

"Then how do I- how do I do this?" Shyra asked quickly.

"I, well, you're family, and you spend a lot of time together, I mean, you're in the same house a lot of the time. I guess, I thought…" Sam rambled.

Shyra sat down on the ground and crossed her legs, closing her eyes.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, glancing quickly at Sam.

Sam was watching Shyra intently and didn't look up to meet his gaze.

Shyra opened her eyes, staring at Sam. "I think…" She frowned. "I think I can…" She leapt to her feet, then turned on the spot once, then began walking off in the direction of the parking lot. "They must have taken him to a vehicle!" she said suddenly, stricken, her voice tight, and stared wide-eyed at Sam.

Sam reached out as though to take her hand, then changed his mind. "It was a person, then? It was human?"

Shyra nodded slowly, hesitantly. She frowned. "It was a man."

"That's good," Sam encouraged, watching her face.

Shyra shrieked. She sprinted away at incredible speed, then, before Sam could take chase more than a few feet, sprinted back. She waved her arms about, and stared at Sam. "What if he killed Bob?" she sobbed, tears running down her face. "What if he killed Bob, and I want to kill him!"

She lunged at Sam and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.

Dean stared at the sight, unnerved and confused. She was a frickin' vampire! It had to be a trap!

Sam patted Shyra's back tentatively. "If he hurt your nephew, I promise we'll make him pay for it."

Shyra sobbed loudly and sniffed.

"Who is the man, Shyra?" Sam asked softly.

Shyra whacked her forehead on Sam's chest. "Stupid!" She whined, then whacked Sam's chest with her forehead again. "He's my doctor!" she whispered. "At least, he _was_ my doctor! When I was sick!" She held Sam tighter and sobbed. "He must have seen Bob then… in the waiting room with Graham!" She howled. "It's my fault Bob's gone!" She lifted her face from Sam's chest and stared up into his eyes. "He's dead, isn't he?" she whined.

"We don't know that, Shyra," Sam told her calmly.

Shyra stomped her foot heavily. She told them the doctor's name, the practise where he worked – Westerly Clinic – and what his car looked like. She hugged Sam and whispered, "Will you take me home, please?"

"I will," Sam promised.

* * *

Dean didn't talk on the drive back to Shyra's house, and Shyra sat with her eyes closed, trying not to cry. When they arrived at Shyra's house, Shyra got out with Sam and she explained to him where the clinic was located and Sam walked her to her front door. He waited until after she'd knocked, before turning to walk back to the Impala, and then waited in the car until the door had opened and he'd seen her go inside.

When the door closed, he started the car and explained to Dean where the clinic the doctor worked at was, then waited for Dean to change seats.

* * *

The clinic was closed when they arrived, but Sam decided to pull up and have a look around anyway. Dean made a face at the alarm system and turned to Sam with a huff, then they scooted around the side of the building, looking for another in.

They found a maintenance door which did not appear to be hooked into the alarm system and Dean picked the lock. Inside, they headed for a directory of some sort.

Dean frowned, muttering quietly in annoyance. Honestly, who didn't have fire escape plans?

They resorted to searching the building corridor by corridor and eventually found the doctor's office. It was clean, no alarm bells, no leads.

Dean refrained from kicking the desk. He'd said it before, and he'd say it again; he didn't get humans!

Sam looked up from a paper he was reading. "Dean!"

Dean walked over and frowned down at the paper, a record of some sort, maybe something from accounting.

Sam dropped the paper onto the filing cabinet and pushed his fists into the top of the metal.

Dean leaned over to get a better look at the paper. It was clear that Sam was upset, what he didn't get was why. "So, this doctor, he's the one snatching the kids?" he asked.

Sam was picking a lock on one of the other filing cabinets in the room, and didn't answer. When he got the lock, he pulled the drawer out and began hastily flipping through files.

Dean was glad he'd made them wear gloves, even if they'd only give him a rash later. "So, this doctor-" he repeated.

"He was about to lose his job, his clinic," Sam ranted.

"They're… making money out of the kids somehow?"

Sam laughed bitterly. "They're all here! All of the surnames!"

Dean shook his head.

Sam reeled off an address, replacing the files in the filing cabinet and shutting the drawer. He bent over and after a moment straightened again, the drawer safely locked again.

He moved to the filing cabinet where Dean was standing and returned the accounting paper to its file and the file back into the cabinet.

Dean watched as the filing cabinet was relocked. "That's where our doctor lives, huh?"

Sam did not reply, except to stalk out of the office. He shook his head, then picked up his pace.

Dean pulled the door shut after him and hurried to catch up to his younger brother.

* * *

The doctor's house was nice, Dean thought. Which probably meant another alarm system! He took a deep breath and reminded himself that kids' lives were at stake. Then he caught sight of the warning sign, BEWARE OF THE DOG!

Sam laughed, in that same harsh manner as before, and clambered over the fence.

Dean waited for the barking, but there was none.

"The thing's locked up!" Sam hissed. "I'll bet they don't want it stolen!"

Dean hurried over the fence after his brother, and they snuck around the house, looking at windows.

Dean swore. They'd been around the house twice and the windows had still been locked!

Sam left the house and wandered away toward a small metal shed, garden shed, maybe?

Dean watched him wander off, then turned back to the house, determined to find some way to get into the house before Sam snapped and resorted to a brick or suitable stone.

Sam marched over and grabbed his arm, yanking him after him. "They're in there!" he hissed, glaring at the ground at the bottom of the shed's single entrance, a metal door the same colour as the shed.

"What?" Dean asked, but he knew exactly who Sam meant. He suppressed a shudder. Why was it always the frickin' humans!

"The children!" Sam hissed, glaring at the ground. He kicked the door violently.

Dean grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back from the door.

Sam dropped his face to the ground and gulped, focussing on his breathing.

Dean pretended not to notice the sound Sam made when he breathed, as though he was going to cry, and dropped his hands from his brother's arms to pick the lock.

* * *

Inside, they found a regular garden shed. Except that it didn't fit to the regular garden shed they'd seen from the outside – it was smaller.

Sam started hitting things randomly, thinking that maybe that would help, and Dean prayed that he'd find the door soon. Before Sam hit something and it clattered to the ground loudly and woke their doctor and his family up.

The hitting sounds stopped and Dean whipped around to find Sam sitting on the floor, staring at nothing in front of him.

He rushed across the small shed to his brother's side, and that was when the button caught his attention, like those for heavy machinery, lathes and saws and drills, except Dean couldn't see anything fitting that description anywhere.

He fell to his knees and crawled under the bench and hit the button hard. He heard the door before he saw it, and backed quickly out from under the bench.

The door opened onto a darkened set of stairs directing them down into the ground, like a mouth gaping open, into darkness.

* * *

At the bottom of the set of stairs was a corridor as dark as the stairs. Dean switched on his torch and continued forward through the gleaming tiled walls, floor, ceiling, eyes stinging at the light glaring back at him, until he came to a door, the first of half a dozen.

Inside the door was a room much like that in a hospital, used for surgeries.

The walls hummed.

The next door lead to a supply room; equipment, chemicals, cleaning tools housed meticulously.

"He opens them up and takes out the parts they need to live," Sam's quiet voice spoke from behind him, and Dean didn't dare turn.

Then they came to the holding room, where Bob lay sleeping, a child's nightlight casting colourful dinosaur shapes on the pale pink wall.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam held the child clutched gently to him, careful not to wake him, and Dean walked ahead, torch cast downward, listening for danger.

They left the shed, and passed through the yard in silence, and were undisturbed.

A car passed on the street, once they'd made it back onto the footpath, and Sam clutched the child tighter, but the car passed without stop, and Dean hurried to open the Impala and get Sam and Bob inside.

As he drove, Dean thought how he could shut down the doctor's business on the side, how he could ensure that the doctor – and his conspirators – got what was coming to him. He was sure, seeing those rooms, that children had died down there.

If he was another person, he thought, he might just let the vampire have a night with them, have them for a dinner party. But, sadly, he was not another person.

* * *

Bob was returned home to his family, the doctor was taken in for questioning in relation to the disappearances of multiple children, others, too.

Sam watched the wall, unable to sleep, and Dean hummed a lullaby for him in his mind, eyes closed, and pretending to be asleep.

Shyra returned to school, and put Dean's number in her cell phone. Dean took her aside and told her, in hushed tones, that Sam was psychic and would know if she transgressed. She believed that what he said was true.

They left town a day later, before Sam got up one night and tracked the doctor down and put an end to him.

Dean had heard him in his sleep, crying. Sammy was only human, like any other human, and he could be hurt and angry like any other person.

But Dean was his big brother, so he packed their things up and took them to the car, and promised they'd have apple pie at the next stop.

* * *

_Thanks for reading._


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